Herjan

I had a dream, which was not all a dream. The bright sun was extinguished, and the stars Did wander darkling in the eternal space, Rayless, and pathless, and the icy earth Swung blind and blackening in the moonless air; Morn came and went -and came, and brought no day, And men forgot their passions in the dread Of this their desolation; and all hearts Were chilled into a selfish prayer for light; And they did live by watchfires -and the thrones, The palaces of crowned kings -the huts, The habitations of all things which dwell, Were burnt for beacons; cities were consumed, And men were gathered round their blazing homes To look once more into each other's face; Happy were those which dwelt within the eye Of the volcanoes, and their mountain-torch; A fearful hope was all the world contained; Forests were set on fire -but hour by hour They fell and faded -and the crackling trunks Extinguished with a crash -and all was black. The brows of men by the despairing light Wore an unearthly aspect, as by fits The flashes fell upon them: some lay down And hid their eyes and wept; and some did rest Their chins upon their clenched hands, and smiled; And others hurried to and fro, and fed Their funeral piles with fuel, and looked up With mad disquietude on the dull sky, The pall of a past world; and then again With curses cast them down upon the dust, And gnashed their teeth and howled; the wild birds shrieked, And, terrified, did flutter on the ground, And flap their useless wings; the wildest brutes Came tame and tremulous; and vipers crawled And twined themselves among the multitude, Hissing, but stingless -they were slain for food; And War, which for a moment was no more, Did glut himself again; -a meal was bought With blood, and each sate sullenly apart Gorging himself in gloom: no love was left; All earth was but one thought -and that was death, Immediate and inglorious; and the pang Of famine fed upon all entrails -men Died, and their bones were tombless as their flesh; The meagre by the meagre were devoured, Even dogs assailed their masters, all save one, And he was faithful to a corse, and kept The birds and beasts and famished men at bay, Till hunger clung them, or the drooping dead Lured their lank jaws; himself sought out no food, But with a piteous and perpetual moan, And a quick desolate cry, licking the hand Which answered not with a caress -he died. The crowd was famished by degrees; but two Of an enormous city did survive, And they were enemies: they met beside The dying embers of an altar-place Where had been heaped a mass of holy things For an unholy usage: they raked up, And shivering scraped with their cold skeleton hands The feeble ashes, and their feeble breath Blew for a little life, and made a flame Which was a mockery; then they lifted up Their eyes as it grew lighter, and beheld Each other's aspects -saw, and shrieked, and died - Even of their mutual hideousness they died, Unknowing who he was upon whose brow Famine had written Fiend. The world was void, The populous and the powerful was a lump, Seasonless, herbless, treeless, manless, lifeless - A lump of death -a chaos of hard clay. The rivers, lakes, and ocean all stood still, And nothing stirred within their silent depths; Ships sailorless lay rotting on the sea, And their masts fell down piecemeal; as they dropped They slept on the abyss without a surge - The waves were dead; the tides were in their grave, The Moon, their mistress, had expired before; The winds were withered in the stagnant air, And the clouds perished! Darkness had no need Of aid from them -She was the Universe!

If you're robbing a bank, and your pants suddenly fall down, I think it's OK to laugh, and to let the hostages laugh too, because come on, life is funny.

"Do not repeat the tactics which have gained you one victory, but let your methods be regulated by the infinite variety of circumstances." -Sun Tzu

"Security is mostly a superstition. It does not exist in nature, nor do the children of men as a whole experience it. Avoiding danger is no safer in the long run than outright exposure."

" Life is either an adventure or nothing at all."

-Helen Keller

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Mannimarco, King of Worms

by Horicles

O sacred isle Artaeum, where rosy light infuses air, O'er towers and through flowers, gentle breezes flow, Softly sloping green-kissed cliffs to crashing foam below, Always springtide afternoon housed within its border, This mystic, mist-protected home of the Psijic Order: Those counselors of kings, cautious, wise, and fair.

Ten score years and thirty since the mighty Remans fell, Two brilliant students studied within the Psijics' fold. One's heart was light and warm, the other dark and cold. The madder latter, Mannimarco, whirled in a deathly dance, His soul in bones and worms, the way of the necromance. Entrapping and enslaving souls, he cast a wicked spell.

The former, Galerion had magic bold and bright as day. He confronted Mannimarco beneath gray Ceporah Tower, Saying, 'Your wicked mysticism is no way to wield your power, Bringing horror to the spirit world, your studies must cease.' Mannimarco scoffed, hating well the ways of life and peace, And returned to his dark artistry; his paints, death and decay.

O sacred isle Artaeum, how slow to perceive the threat, When the ghastly truth revealed, how weak the punishment. The ghoulish Mannimarco from the isle of the wise was sent To the mainland Dawn's Beauty, more death and souls to reap. 'You have found a wolf, and sent the beast to flocks of sheep,' Galerion told his Masters, 'A terror on Tamriel has set.'

'Speak no more of him,' the sage Cloaks of Gray did say. 'Twas not the first time Galerion thought his Masters callous, Unconcerned for men and mer, aloof in their island palace. 'Twas not the first time Galerion thought 'twas time to build A new Order to bring true magic to all, a mighty Mages Guild. But 'twas the time he left, at last, fair Artaeum's azure bay.

O, but sung we have of Vanus Galerion many times before, How cast he off the Psijics' chains, bringing magic to the land. Throughout the years, he saw the touch of Mannimarco's hand, Through Tamriel's deserts, forests, towns, mountains, and seas. The dark grip stretching out, growing like some dread disease By his dark Necromancers, collecting cursed artifacts of yore.

They brought to him these tools, mad wizards and witches, And brought blood-tainted herbs and oils to his cave of sin, Sweet Akaviri poison, dust from saints, sheafs of human skin, Toadstools, roots, and much more cluttered his alchemical shelf, Like a spider in his web, he sucked all their power into himself, Mannimarco, Worm King, world's first of the undying liches.

Corruption on corruption, 'til the rot sunk to his very core, Though he kept the name Mannimarco, his body and his mind Were but a living, moving corpse as he left humanity behind. The blood in his veins became instead a poison acid stew. His power and his life increased as his fell collection grew . Mightiest were these artifacts, long cursed since days of yore.

They say Galerion left the Guild, calling it 'a orass,' But untruth is a powerful stream, polluting the river of time. Galerion beheld Mannimarco's rise through powers sublime, To his mages and Lamp Knights, 'Before my last breath, Face I must the tyranny of worms, and kill at last, undeath.' He led them north to cursed lands, to a mountain pass.

O those who survived the battle say its like was never seen. Armored with magicka, armed with ensorcelled sword and axe, Galerion cried, echoing, 'Worm King, surrender your artifacts, And their power to me, and you shall live as befits the dead.' A hollow laugh answered, 'You die first,' Mannimarco said. The mage army then clashed with the unholy force obscene.

Imagine waves of fire and frost, and the mountain shivers, Picture lightning arching forth, crackling in a dragon's sigh. Like leaves, the battlemages fly to rain down from the sky, At the Necromancers' call, corpses burst from earth to fight, To be shattered into nothingness with a flood of holy light. A maelstrom of energy unleashed, blood cascades in rivers.

Like a thunderburst in blue skies or a lion's sudden roar, Like sharp razors tearing over delicate embroidered lace, So at a touch did Galerion shake the mountain to its base. The deathly horde fell fatally, but heeding their dying cries From the depths, the thing they called Worm King did rise. Nirn itself did scream in the Mages' and Necromancers' war.

His eyes burning dark fire, he opened his toothless maw, Vomiting darkness with each exhalation of his breath, All sucking in the fetid air felt the icy touch of death. In the skies above the mountain, darkness overcame pale, Then Mannimarco Worm King felt his dismal powers fail: The artifacts of death pulled from his putrid skeletal claw.

A thousand good and evil perished then, history confirms. Among, alas, Vanus Galerion, he who showed the way, It seemed once that Mannimarco had truly died that day. Scattered seemed the Necromancers, wicked, ghastly fools, Back to the Mages Guild, victors kept the accursed tools, Of him, living still in undeath, Mannimarco, King of Worms.

Children, listen as the shadows cross your sleeping hutch, And the village sleeps away, streets emptied of the crowds, And the moons do balefully glare through the nightly clouds, And the graveyard's people rest, we hope, in eternal sleep, Listen and you'll hear the whispered tap of the footsteps creep, Then pray you'll never feel the Worm King's awful touch.

Words too often lie

..Watch Hedger get his ass beat!..

BELHOLD! The mighty voices of my vengeance smash the stillness of the air and stand as monoliths of wrath upon a plain of writhing serpents. I am become as a monstrous machine of annihilation to the festering fragments of the body of he (she) who would detain me. It repenteth me not that my summons doth ride upon the blasting winds which multiply the sting of my bitterness; And great black slimy shapes shall rise from brackish pits and vomit forth their pustulence into his (her) puny brain. I call upon the messengers of doom to slash with grim delight this victim I hath chosen. Silent is that voiceless bird that feeds upon the brain-pulp of him (her) who hath tormented me, and the agony of the is to be shall sustain itself in shrieks of pain, only to serve as signals of warning to those who would resent my being. Oh come forth in the name of Abaddon and destroy him (her) whose name I giveth as a Sign. Oh great brothers of the night, thou who makest my place of comfort, who rideth out upon the hot winds of Hell, who dwelleth in the devil's fane; Move and appear! Present yourselves to him (her) who sustaineth the rottenness of the mind that moves the gibbering mouth that mocks the just and strong.; rend that gaggling tongue and close his (her) throat, Oh Kali! Pierce his (her) lungs with the stings of scorpions. Oh Sekhmet! Plunge his (her) substance into the dismal void, Oh mighty Dagon! I thrust aloft the bifid barb of Hell and on its tines resplendently impaled my sacrifice through vengeance rests!

Take the quiz: "Which Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle are You?"

Raphael
You can be considered the 'dark one' of your family. You're a hot-head, face it. Or...the 'Realist' some may say. It's a dog-eat-dog world, you're a pretty big dog. You normally lay low until some one gets up your back. You're anti-social and short-tempered...and you're not big on admitting it! But, even though you can act kinda rude and not-there, you're a rather large teddy bear on the inside when it comes to the ones you love...in danger. You hate being called a, 'softy' and you're always ready to 'bring it'.
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